


4 Moments of Motherhood

by heartfeltdisease



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alpha Timeline, Gen, Motherhood, Sadstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-09
Updated: 2012-05-09
Packaged: 2017-11-05 02:10:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartfeltdisease/pseuds/heartfeltdisease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“There’s nothing really like a mother.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	4 Moments of Motherhood

**Author's Note:**

> small tw for pedophilia mentions

**1  
** You met Miss Crocker first at a promotional event. Dave invited her every time, at your request; there were always Crocker Corp types, skittering around with disdainful looks on their faces, but the 13-year-old heiress herself never showed.  
(“She’s probably busy shopping and hanging out with her rich friends, playing with their little doggies and diamond vibrators. Why would she bother to come to some shitty ass movie she’s probably brainwashed to dismiss as drivel -- which is totally unfair, since it is the greatest film of her generation and pretty much ever no matter what the world says?” Dave muttered dismissively, his voice more static-y than usual over the (no doubt tapped) phone line. You had learned long ago to dismiss that. They could assassinate you with or without evidence; there was really no problem as long as you didn’t tell them anything they didn’t know. “I don’t know why you insist I get her on the list every time, it’s like you have some creepy pedo crush from a past life or something, are you compensating? Am I bad in bed?”  
He can’t see your eyes roll over the phone, but force of habit forces you to do it anyway. “I just have a positive feeling about her, as if she could help us. I’ve been right about these things in the past. If I remember correctly, you used to agree with me on these things..”  
“Usually I’d get a feeling for these types too, Lalonde. This time I don’t. Besides, who says she’d talk to us old farts? We’re old, especially you, you’re ancient.”  
“I want to be in touch with the youngsters, maybe,” you muse, ignoring his incorrect comment. They’ll teach you well for the child. Roan, you think. A wonderful name.  
Dave snorts. “Whatever you say, Humbert.”)  
It was at the pre-premiere party for “got to church [sic]” that she finally graced the party with her presence, dressed in a delicate blue dress. At first sight, something pulled at the back of your throat like a familiar scent, but you swallowed it. She was (and still is, you like to think) short and thick, with coffee skin and ruddy cheeks, all baby fat and smiles. Despite the honest happy glow, she looked overwhelmed at the people, the lights; she looked totally out of place, a child in a room of adults, but everyone treated her as a princess. You watched her a bit over a glass of water - the safest drink at any party thrown by Dave - before finally catching her at the food table.  
“I wouldn’t attempt to eat those, if I was you,” You said, smile gentle. You tried your best to make your body language as non-threatening as possible, but she still jumped a little. (You’re a scary-looking thing, you suppose - tall and thin-hourglass with pallid skin.) “Mr. Strider is known to be quite ‘ironic’ with his treats, and I know for a fact that these are not near as kosher as they appear.”  
“Really?” She said, voice eager. Familiar in a stomach-turning kind of way. “They all look so nice! These cupcakes, especially.” She pointed one chubby finger at a cupcake.  
You shook your head politely. “Those in particular are filled with cheeto dust.”  
“W-what?” She said, horror pooling in her face. “W- why would you ruin such beautiful cupcakes?!”  
“This is a Dave Strider event. I trust you haven’t seen any of his movies before?”  
She looked at the floor guiltly, fidgeting with her glasses. “Well, no. This’ll be my first. I- I don’t usually go to these things.”  
“You don’t frequent this sort of event?” You ask, slightly curious. “I would think they would be priming you into a lovely, blossoming socialite by now.”  
She worried at her lip with buck teeth. You are suddenly struck through the lungs with brief flashbacks - a girl with a gun. A man high fiving a floating clown.  
“No, I don’t leave much... My dad’s pretty protective so I usually hang around home.” She mumbled. Aqua eyes flashed up to your face. “A-are you alright, miss-”  
“Lalonde.” You offer, pulling a trained smile back onto your face. “Why did you decide to attend to this one, then, if I may ask?”  
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Lalonde!” She grins back. It’s positively dorky. “My friend Dirk told me he knows Dave! He wanted me to watch -- miss, are you--”  
(” What do you want him to be named?” You ask, in a moment of silence.  
“I was thinking about Dirk. You see, it’s a porn star name, but it’s not too obvious like ‘Dick.’ It’s subtle and perfect, considering no kid of mine is stripping unironically or something like that. I don’t know, I just like it. Do you like it?”  
“Of course,” you deadpan. “It’s an excellent  name for an innocent child.”  
“I knew you’d agr-- ah, fuck, Lalonde snark, nearly missed it.”)  
“Excuse me.” You said, shivering slightly as you walked away, leaving a confused child in your wake.  
You hated being right.  
  
 **2  
** The second time, things were worse.  
The enigma that was Jane Crocker became your obsession in the weeks after the event. You looked for anything the internet or libraries had to say about this little heiress to a world-dominating   Dave thought you were absolutely batshit - he flew to your house for a week to pull you out of your research. After a week of knitting sword cozies and playing Uno, he judged you “okay.” You returned to it the instant he left.   
Your work on your next book fell behind. Your editor was pissed. You were positively panicked. Eventually, lacking any stable evidence, you slowly let the project fall into the wayside. Her grandfather was an old comedian with a face that made your soul ache in a similar way - you started to wonder if it was just some old memory, from the times when you were very young and living in an orphanage. It wasn’t the feeling you were looking for - Jane Crocker messed with your soul, not your destiny.  
Over the years, Crockercorp got bigger and bigger. You and Dave had your eye on them as they took over industry after industry, becoming movers and shakers. The Batterwitch herself was nowhere to be seen, but to trained eyes like yours she was everywhere, slowly working her long, tentacled appendages into every orifice.  
A year later, you saw her on television.  
“We’re here today with the young heiress of the Crocker company. It’s very hard to get an interview with you, Miss Jane Crocker.”  
“Gee, I guess I’m not much of the interview type! I prefer to be the interrogator, if possible.”  
You turned around in your chair to face the TV. The gaudy (red) studio blasted flattering lights on both her and the flustered interviewer. She seemed brighter than last time; rim-rod straight. Her baby fat had morphed into adult fat, but it suited her well - her cheeks were still flushed and she was, in short, beautiful. She reminded you of people you couldn’t remember, as always, but there was enough to appreciate for her own merit.  
“T-that’s nice!” the interviewer said, skipping along. “What kind of things do you like to do, Jane? Can I call you that?”  
“Of course! I like baking, naturally, and old detective movies. And video games!”  
“How do you feel about inheriting the company?”  
“It’s something I’ll do. I’m not to worried about it. Baking is what I’m best at, after all - how hard can it be?” She laughed then - like an owl, hoo hoo hoo.  
It was a sad to think that there was no way that could ever happen - not in her current state. The batterwitch would never allow such an innocent girl to run her company, with everything you knew they did.  
“Do you, I mean -” Cough. “How are your friends?”  
Jane smiled, ignoring the brain typo. “I love my friends! They live in so many different places. There’s Jake, Dirk, Roxy--”  
Your heart nearly stopped.  
(“Look, Roan is a terrible name.” Dave told you over the snorting laughs of the old comedian.”You’re raising a child, not naming one of your homosex wizards. You’ve gotta give her a name that she’ll like and not be teased on the proverbial playground for.”  
“What do you suggest, then, oh wise and knowledgeable Strider?”  
“Some other R name, I guess - that seems to be the pattern - so, Riley. Rain. Rachel.  Roxy. Reggie. Rope. Row-your-boat-gently-down--”  
“I would never name my child any of those.”)  
“Are any of these people viewers at home would know?” She asked, looking at the camera briefly with a nervous smile.  
“Well, maybe Roxy and Dirk. They seem like they’re related to some famous people - I mean, they have the last names Lalonde and Strider, but I don’t think there’s any relation--”  
(“What about Roxy? What if she’s nothing like you, what if she’s--”  
“Please complete your sentence?” You asked, eyebrow raised.  
“What if she’s some valley girl, flipping her skirt to the guys, heart sunglasses, pink-loving ‘like, totally, girlfriend!’”  
You frown. “I would never raise a child to act in that way. It would be terribly irresponsible of me as a writer to allow such a degradation of English.”  
“You’ve gotta give her a choice at her life. Girlfriend. Like, seriously.”  
You sigh, turning the volume up. Roxy sounds like a wonderful name, to be honest - not a valley girl, but a girl full of life and vibrancy. Unlike you, paper-white and wasp thin, more focused on writing and subtle activism than living your life. “No way,” you tell him. Ironically. You think he enjoys it.)  
“We’re an odd bunch, but I love them all. They’re my dearest companions!”  
“Do you have a crush on any of them?”  
“Ah! Don’t ask me that on TV!”  
You opened your laptop and start looking for her contact information. When you found it, you noted the number down and called her as soon as she left the studio.  
“Excuse me, but I was wondering if you’d could assist me with a concern, Miss Crocker? Could we meet in person, to discuss... some relevant issues, about... Roxy, yes.”  
You’re not sure why they let her come to your house. You could only assume the perimeter was being carefully examined, but there were no obvious signs.  
Not that they don’t have enough evidence to bring you down already. You know too much.   
You weren’t looking for that kind of knowledge this time.  
When you answer the door, Jane stands before you; unlike every other time you’d seen her, she was dressed almost normally for a child her age, if not overly conservative. She was in a t-shirt and long skirt, fad bracelets around her wrist. She’s still very much a child, you suddenly realized, stomach turning.  
“I’m very glad to meet you again, Ms. -- Mrs. --”  
“Miss.” You assured her. “It’s very nice to see you again too, Jane. Would you like to take a seat?”  
You directed her to the couch and coffee table set, where you’ve set up some stale cookies and lemonade. She doesn’t touch either, eyeing your wares with uncertainty.   
“Thank you for coming,” you said pleasantly, drawing your shawl a little closer around you. You kept your house cold back then to keep you awake on long nights. It did little but make you miserable.   
“It’s no problem. You want to know more about Roxy, right? To see if she’s doing anything behind your back? I... she’s not here right now, is she? I don’t want to get her mad at me.”  
“She is thankfully absent,” you replied truthfully. She wasn’t here yet at all, but she doesn’t need to know that. “I am surprised she publicly admits to being my daughter.”  
“O-of course! She talks about you a lot. I didn’t believe her at first, but I guess she wasn’t lying.” Jane said, suddenly very fidgety. She reached for a cooking and began nibbling at it, frowning slightly at the taste.   
You tilted your head. “Out of curiosity, what does she say, in regards to me?”  
The Crocker girl grew still and quiet.  
“Lots of things, but they aren’t true.” She said sadly. “She... I think she’s... She says you’re dead, that she lives alone. She says she’s from the future and can see me. She says that my grandmother, who owns the company, is a witch from outer space, going to dominate the world and -- It’s scary, you know? If we weren’t so close, I’d think she was trolling me! Maybe she’s a pathological liar. Maybe she’s insane. I wish she’d stop it with her tomfoolery! I can’t tell what she wants from m-me!”  
Suddenly, Jane Crocker was crying on your couch, tears running down her chubby cheeks, redder than normal from the emotional strain.  
(“What if we can’t have them?” You asked one time in a fit of horror. Your veins burned in your skin like irons. “What if she stops us? We know she doesn’t like human reproduction.”  
“Then we’ll have them later. We’ll find a way. It’s not like our births were normal, anyway; who says they’ll be born like us?”  
You sighed deeply, trying to control yourself. “I guess you may be correct.” You said, voice tipping slightly, betraying yourself in stiffness.)  
You leaned across the couch to pat her on the shoulder, gently, ever so gently, and she responded by falling onto you, clutching at your shirt and sobbing. The warmth was vaguely unfamilar, but it didn’t feel wrong at all to pull her closer and let her cry into your chest. She was a child. You were a mother.   
“S-s-she drinks a l-lot,” she sputtered. “S-she h-hacks and clones c-cats and h-hits on robots and I t-think she’s really l-lonely.”  
“Ssssh,” you quieted her, petting her hair. “I’ll help her with everything in my power, small as that might be. You being there for her is likely the best thing, however. Can you continue doing that?”  
“Mhmm.” She mumbled. Tears formed in your eyes as well, pulling her a little closer.   
“We can both do our best, for Roxy Lalonde.”  
  
 **3  
** Jane Crocker’s return ticket was for a few days in the future, so you let her stay a little longer. She was a lovely person. She helped you make dinner, and fussed and giggled at your room. You made her a sweater and scarf set - she wore them incessantly. As long as you kept her in the safe parts of the house, she was a charmer.   
“Where is Roxy, right now?” She asked, full of wonder at your living space. It probably didn’t look like a house a 14-year-old girl lived in.  
“She’s flown out to visit an acquaintance.”  
“Dirk?” She questioned. It was funny to think of these strange future children of you and Dave as best friends. You had learned many interesting things about the youngest Strider that you wanted to tell Dave.  
You nod.  
“Oh. I didn’t hear about that.” She said. The lie would probably be exposed later, but it would suit for now, while she was away from her computer. “I wish I could have seen her.”  
She snuggled next to you on the couch as you watch old tapes of Poppop Crocker, her grandfather. She loved to watch him, citing old memories as the reason, but you couldn’t explain the snuggles - not that you minded too terribly much. The warmth was appreciated. As time went on, the young girl grew more and more sleepy, leaning on your shoulder.  
“I’ve never really had a mother,” she mumbled, looking up at you with fuzzy eyes.  
“Not even the B-- your grandmother?”  
“No... I’ve never actually met her, to be honest.” She said with a frown. “How was your mother?”  
“I was an orphan.”  
“I’m sorry,” she said, suddenly looking sorry for mentioning it.  
You shrugged. “There’s nothing to apologize for. It is a far off past event. I have no problems discussing it.”  
“Did you have people to care for you, anyway?”  
“Surely. There were wet nurses and maitresses aplenty. I’ve been informed it’s not the same, but I’ve never had the experience to compare it to, at least not first hand.”  
She closed her eyes and rested her head on your shoulder. “There’s nothing really like a mother.”  
(“They’re not really our kids, are they?”  
Dave cocked an eyebrow. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean, of course they’re ours. They’ve got our little baby genes.”  
You sighed. “No, that’s not what a parent is. Parents are who raise you.”  
“I wouldn’t call the orphanage shits our parents.”  
“Neither would I. That’s different. They were doing it for pay. Parents do it for love. What if they’re as alone as us?”  
He stares at you for a moment - you can see from the slight twitch of his mouth that he’s heartbroken by the thought, just as much as you.)  
“I suppose not.” You said, as if either of you had any idea what a mother was supposed to feel like.   
“When I have the company,” She muttered, snuggling a little closer, “I’ll make sure to donate a lot to motherless children. I’ll raise my own children and be the best mother there ever was. I’ll... I’ll do it...” You patted at her hair, trembling with foreign affection and pity as she falls asleep in your arms. It felt like the start of something you would continue for your whole life.  
You knew it wouldn’t.  
She left the next morning as if nothing happened. There were no meaningful last words, no dramatic reveal; just a good bye and a sad feeling that Jane Crocker was just as lonely as the company she kept.  
  
 **4  
** Jane Crocker has been missing for years now, so many that you’ve forgotten the date. It was her birthday when she disappeared from this world, never to be found again. You hadn’t heard from her since your last visit, but the thought still stung.  
Things have changed since then, and none for the better. Her Imperial Condescension has forced her rule. Between the laughing Presidents and the new Antichrist, the world has gone to hell. You and Dave have slayed all three, and now it’s time to bring the Empress herself down.  
“I suppose this is the end.” You whisper to him as she looms before you. “Do you have any last regrets?”  
“I wish I had been a father.” He says, fingering his sword. “None, other than that. Besides, who says it’s the end? We got this like Crockers got dental problems.”  
You purse your lips, resenting his optimistic lie. You both know you won’t survive this.  
“What about you, Lalonde? On the off chance we don’t survive.”  
“I wish --”   
The first attack comes, nearly hitting you in the chest. The fight starts in earnest, but you’re holding your words in your heart.   
(“I wish I had helped Jane Crocker more.”)  
Maybe if you had, it wouldn’t have come to this.


End file.
